


Keep Me Safe Inside Your Arms Like Towers

by attheendoftheday



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bullying, Homophobia, Homophobic Slurs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Punk!Louis, Slight Violence, a short shot at slight angst, he's supposed to be really scary see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:44:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheendoftheday/pseuds/attheendoftheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is beaten up at school and Louis comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me Safe Inside Your Arms Like Towers

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "We Are Broken" by Paramore.  
> First try at angst. Hope you like!!! Comment/leave kudos if you'd like!!!  
> None of this is real, obviously, please don't sue me ❤

The clock seems to tick slower and slower as Harry stares at it with glassy green eyes. The steady tick tock tick tock invades his brain, making his head hurt almost as much as the new bruises staining his skin. He moves his hand over one and presses on it slightly just until he feels a dull ache, and he curses silently; another one to cover up from his mum. She would ask are there any today, darling, did anything happen and he would lie no everything is getting better. And some days, he thought it was better. He really did.

“Faggot.”

But it really wasn’t. Not at all.

The bell had rung without his noticing, and the name calling Harry snap his head up, the knot in his stomach already tightening from the anticipation of what was next. They were surrounding his desk already, the goddamn football players with their large muscle and miniscule brains and huge egos just from kicking a ball around a field. And Harry wants to run away, or maybe cry. But he can’t. Because he is a fucking faggot because he loves someone and god forbid he show the world.  
Harry gathers his books in his arms and shoves his way through the crowd, ignoring the jeers and pinches as he joins the flow of students moving out of the classroom and into the crowded hallway. He walks alone. Sometimes Niall or Liam was there to walk with him, keep him company if their schedule allowed it, but not today. Harry opens his locker and quickly puts his books away, and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Keeping his eyes locked on the exit, Harry steps over lone textbooks and gym bags in the now empty hallway to reach the parking lot as soon as possible. Because in the parking lot was Louis, and Louis was safety and comfort and no one would even dream of hurting Harry when Louis was around.

As the cold winter breeze enters his lungs, Harry smiles tentatively as he looks for his ride home. Just when he thinks he can see Louis waving, a lump of something hard and cold and wet hits the back of his head with a thump that reverberates in all corners of his skull. He reaches to the back of his head to wipe away the remains of the snowball from his brown curls and to prod the already forming lump on his head. Wincing, he turns to see the assholes again standing in a little group, smirking, as if taunting a little gay boy was the best form of entertainment. Hilarious.

He tries to remind himself to ignore them as he turns around and starts to walk stiffly away. Louis is here, he thinks. He’s almost home. But before he can even take another step, the captain – some brawny douche, Stan, or someone like that – motions for the others to follow and walk alongside Harry.

“Where’re you off to, faggot? Gonna fuck your boyfriend now?”

He has to ignore them. He has to ignore them. He has to ignore them. Harry grits his teeth and keeps walking.

“What’s his name again? Leo? Lewis? Lucas? Whatever, it’s probably some stupid name. He’s probably an asshole, an ugly one too. Who else would want to touch you?”

Fuck it.

Harry turns and stares at the footballer coolly. “Louis. His name is Louis. And he is not ugly, or an asshole. Unlike you,” he mocks. The rush of sudden courage falters as Harry saw the anger flaring in the other boy’s eyes.

“You think you’re pretty funny, huh?” The other boys crowd around him and one – they all looked the same – rips his backpack off of his back and throws it on the ground. “Lads, don’t you think we should teach this faggot a lesson?” The question was met with a chorus of “yeah” and “let’s do this.” Harry looks around desperately, but the parking lot is nearly empty and the people that are left lower their eyes and turn their backs, terrified of being the next target. His eyes stop their searching and lower to Stan’s hand, already in a fist and winding back and Harry feels the punch before there was even any impact, and the blinding pain has him crumple to his knees, holding his throbbing jaw in both hands.

The pain in his jaw can’t compare with the sudden assault on the rest of his body, the punches and kicks hitting him with such agony he can only cover his face with his hands and curl up into a fetal position. He started to pray (to what, he wasn’t sure) and all he can hear is shouting and screaming and – was it his own screaming? He can’t tell.  
“What the absolute fuck are you doing to him? Get away from him, or I swear to God –“ and, oh, he knows that voice, and when the beating slows he can finally sit up. The world swims and Harry feels like he is going to vomit at any moment, but Louis is here, and his blue eyes stood out clearly to him. And the other lads are backing up and –  
The thing is that Louis is absolutely fucking terrifying. He is short and curvy, but his piercings shine in the light and his tattoos stand out clearly against his tan skin, with eyes filled with fire and brimstone and toned muscles - and no one ever crosses Louis. Especially when it comes to Harry.

The footie players are standing back now, and Harry can’t tell exactly what they’re doing, but he can see that Louis is holding Stan by the collar.  
“Don’t you ever fucking touch him again, because I will personally find you and kill you, I promise,” Louis snarls into his face, and Stan’s eyes widen but he responds quickly.

“You really think you can take down all of us, fag?”

Louis’ face hardens even more, and he whispers now. “No, I can’t. But I can get my friends to hunt you down and beat the shit out of you, and I can also call the cops for a hate crime and ruin your entire pathetic rich boy lives.”

Stan opens his mouth to say something, but apparently thinks better of it and instead breaks free from Louis’ grasp to leave, gesturing for the other boys to follow him. 

As soon as they’re gone, Harry feels Louis holding him, pressing small kisses onto his face. “Darling, darling, you’re okay,” he soothes, and Harry realizes that he has tears streaming down his face. “I’ve got you, you’re okay; can you stand for me babe?” Louis’ voice is soft. Harry nods once and stands, grasping onto Louis’ shirt when the world tilts sickeningly. They move slowly to the car – thank God it’s a short walk – and Louis holds the door open for Harry to fall into the passenger seat, holding his head. Louis gets into the driver’s seat and holds the younger boy close to him, resting his lips on his forehead.

“I’m going to bring you home, sweetheart, and get your mum and bandage you up,” Louis murmurs. Harry’s tears begin to stop flowing. “And then we’ll deal with those bastards. I swear, Harry, none of them will think about touching my boy ever again.”

The ride home is quiet, and Harry hurts. His entire body aches painfully with new bruises and cuts. And he thinks that maybe he should feel sad or angry or bitter, but Louis is holding his hand like a lifeline, and all Harry feels is the overwhelming relief of finally being safe.


End file.
